


always a competition

by evils



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fisting, M/M, clenches...fist, this is real...this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evils/pseuds/evils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everything is always a competition—except this. This definitely is.</p><p> </p><p>Alternatively: "Fist me, Iwa-chan."</p>
            </blockquote>





	always a competition

**Author's Note:**

> this is ridiculous and i'm sorry

“Fist me, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi stares at him for a solid fifteen seconds, face blank, eyes unblinking, before going back to his phone screen.

“Iwa-chan, didn’t you hear me?” Oikawa whines, batting the hand Iwaizumi is using to hold his phone away from his face so he can peer into it. “Hello, earth to Iwa-chan?”

“I heard you,” Iwaizumi mumbles darkly, looking like he’s trying very, very hard to keep calm.

“Well?” Oikawa asks expectantly.

“Well, what?”

“Are you going to do it or not?”

“Do _what_?”

“Fist me!”

“Obviously I’m not going to—to do that!” Iwaizumi snaps, irritated. Oikawa doesn’t miss the tinge of color sweeping across his cheeks, but he decides not to call Iwaizumi out on it—after all, he’s trying to make a pitch here.

“Iwa-chaaaan!” He makes sure to inject maximum whininess into his voice, because he knows it pisses Iwaizumi off. And, strangely enough, the more annoyed Iwaizumi gets whenever Oikawa is bothering him about something like this, the more likely he is to give in to whatever Oikawa’s asking for. Usually he just gets fed up and relents with a sour-sounding ‘ _fine_ ,’ but Oikawa has a feeling that it might be a little more complicated than that this time. “As your loving boyfriend, I am simply making a humble request! Rejecting me like this right away is so mean!”

Iwaizumi colors a little bit more— _cute_. “What does that have to do with anything?” he mumbles, crossing his arms.

“Well…” Oikawa trails off, looking as if he’s debating something, and Iwaizumi narrows his eyes.

“You’re up to something.” He sounds suspicious. Damn, he really does know Oikawa all too well.

“What? Me? What could I possibly be up to, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa says, feigning innocence and laying one scandalized hand over his chest.

Iwaizumi looks at him with dead eyes.

“What, I’m not allowed to want to try to have some exciting, new adventures in the bedroom with my boyfriend? Is that suddenly such a crime? I thought you said you were open to experimenting, Iwa-chan!”

“Shut _up_ —I—I never said—”

“You’re going back on your words now, Iwa-chan? I’m only asking for one tiny little thing. Well—maybe it’s not so tiny,” Oikawa pauses to give a pointed look at Iwaizumi’s hands, “but it’s just one thing! I just want your f—”

“I’m not going to _fist_ you, Shittykawa! Back off!” Iwaizumi snaps, red ears giving away his embarrassment despite the exasperation in his voice.

“So mean!”

“Back _off_ ,” he repeats.

Oikawa thinks—it’s not going to work if he keeps going like this. This isn’t like goading Iwaizumi into holding hands with him in public, or forcing him to feed Oikawa when they go out to eat. This is different, and Iwaizumi’s too much of a prude to take it on all on his own, he knows. The success rate for Plan B in his mind is small, and he initially hadn’t been planning to bring it up. But Oikawa figures he has nothing to lose and that he might as well give it a shot.

“If you won’t do it for me,” Oikawa announces with a pout, “then maybe you’ll do it for the team?”

“ _What?_ ”

“For the team! We have a lot at stake here,” Oikawa says very gravely.

“If I’m not going to do— _that_ —to _you_ , then what makes you think that I’d ever. _Ever._ In a million _years—_ ”

“Oh my god, Iwa-chan, I’m not asking you to fist our team! What is wrong with you?”

Iwaizumi genuinely looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel and Oikawa wonders if he should just take pity on him soon. But he always looks so cute when he’s angry like this—Oikawa knows he’s in for getting smacked soon, probably, but it’s always worth it. Especially right now, with Iwaizumi being a combination of adorably flustered and impossibly angry.

“Oikawa. If you don’t tell me what’s going on right now, so help me god, I will smack you _so hard_ —” And there it is.

“Fine, fine!” Oikawa sighs, throwing his hands up into the air as a sign of defeat. “But you have to promise not to yell at me or anything. Or hit me. Please.”

“I promise absolutely nothing. Now talk.”

“Well, it all started when we—me and Dai-chan and Tetsu-chan—decided to meet up the other day, and—oh! You know that new yogurt place that opened up downtown? We went there! We should really go someday, their raspberry flavored—”

“Get to the point. Now,” Iwaizumi interrupts, his eyes closed and his nose bridge pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Oikawa thinks he sees a vein pulsing along his forehead.

“Alright, fine then,” Oikawa says placidly. “Well, long story short, I guess, we started talking about our...uh, _partners_.”

“Oh, god.”

“And how far we’d gotten with them and stuff like that."

" _Oh, god_."

"And then we started talking about how much the—uh, catcher—could take, and then...well, that’s how it became a competition, I guess.”

“A competition.”

“Yeah! Apparently Dai-chan’s done up to _four_ fingers with Kou-chan, and we can’t be bested by Karasuno again! They even get double points because they have Dai-chan as well as that glasses kid, even though Tetsu-chan says he can only take three. But the point is, we’re representing Seijou here! We can’t lose to them! I already told them we’d win it and that I’d show them!”

“Are you fucking kidding me. I swear to everything that is holy, if you are making this up—”

“I’m not! I’m being one hundred percent honest! And, truth be told, I think I might actually enjoy it!” Oikawa tries to grab for Iwaizumi’s hands to hold them between his own, but Iwaizumi jerks them away quickly, standing from Oikawa’s bed abruptly.

“I’m done hearing about this! I’m not going to take part in your dumb competition, find someone else to do it.”

“How could you say something like that?!” Oikawa shrieks, even though they both know that’s never going to happen. But Oikawa makes sure to put on a show anyways, stomping his foot angrily. “Iwa-chan! The _pride_ of our team is riding on your fist! Think of the team! Think of the school!”

“Shut up, shut up, shut _up_! I’m not doing this, there is no way in hell I’m doing this.” Iwaizumi covers his ears with his hands, childishly tuning Oikawa out.

And Oikawa sighs—a lot of people label him as the stubborn one, but little do they know that, when it really comes down to it, Iwaizumi can be just as bad.

As he had expected, Plan B hadn't worked out well. He decides to make a tactical retreat for now, but this isn’t over. Never say that Oikawa had failed at anything for lack of trying, and he’s going to try at this until Iwaizumi cracks.

  


* * *

  


Being the perceptive person he is, it only takes Oikawa three days to figure out.

The first day, he and Iwaizumi are tangled together in Oikawa’s sheets after school. Oikawa is straddling Iwaizumi’s lap and licking into his mouth, relaxed. He’s got his hands pushed up under Iwaizumi’s shirt, running his palms over heated, muscled skin as Iwaizumi digs his fingers into Oikawa’s waist. He sighs against Iwaizumi’s lips—he always enjoys their moments like this. Not just that they’re making out, but getting to be close to Iwaizumi like this, without any distractions, without anything other than the feeling of warm skin against his and the blooming sensation in his chest.

Eager for more, he tilts his hips forward slightly, looking to press them harder into Iwaizumi’s lap.

And then, suddenly, he’s being shoved away unceremoniously as Iwaizumi stands abruptly, his shoulders hunched up around his ears, which are growing steadily pinker by the second.

“Iwa-chan? What’s wrong?” Oikawa says from the bed. “Did I hurt you by accident or something?”

“No, it’s nothing!” Iwaizumi’s turned away, and Oikawa stares at his back. Had he done something wrong…?

“Well...okay, come back here then,” Oikawa pats the spot on the bed next to him.

“No, um, actually—I just remembered, I have a project to do—it’s due, uh, tomorrow, so—”

“We’re in the same classes, Iwa-chan, we don’t have a project due tomorrow—”

“—so I’m just gonna, uh. Get going.” The tips of his ears are still red, and Oikawa narrows his eyes at them.

“But don’t you want any...um, help?” They both know what he’s talking about, and Oikawa can see the back of Iwaizumi’s neck turn the same shade as his ears.

“It’s...fine. See you tomorrow, Oikawa.”

When the door to his room shuts with a quiet click behind Iwaizumi’s retreating back, Oikawa leans back in his bed, a sly smile spreading across his face. Well, that had certainly been interesting. He hadn’t been expecting _that_ kind of reaction, exactly, but he jots something down on his mental notepad all the same.

  


* * *

  


The second day is a little harder to figure out—Oikawa thinks he sees it a couple times during the day, but it’s not until practice after school that his suspicions are confirmed.

Iwaizumi had acted like nothing happened between the two of them yesterday, like he hadn’t just up and left suddenly in the middle of their Activities. Which was just fine by Oikawa, considering the reward he was intending to reap by the end of it all. So pretend he would, but that didn’t mean he was going to ignore the obvious signs. Iwaizumi could be so oblivious sometimes, Oikawa thought lovingly. He probably didn’t even realize it yet, but by the time he would, it'd be too late.

The set of the ball comes naturally to him, especially when it’s Iwaizumi he’s tossing it to. Graceful and powerful as ever, Iwaizumi smacks it down over the net and across to the other side of the court, like he always did. It hadn’t been Oikawa’s first toss to him that day, but it was definitely the one that he hit the hardest.

“Nice one, Iwaizumi-senpai!” Kindaichi calls, but Iwaizumi ignores him because he’s too caught up with looking at his own hand. Oikawa suspects that his palm is red and sensitive from spiking, and he watches on silently as Iwaizumi stares at it in wonder and curiosity.

And then Iwaizumi curls his fingers inward, fingers pressing in towards the flesh of his palm, to form a loose fist. He turns his hand over and examines the backs of his knuckles, brows furrowed and looking deep in thought.

“Um,” Kindaichi whispers to no one in particular, “is Iwaizumi-senpai okay?”

That seems to snap him out of it, and Iwaizumi quickly unfurls his fist, red spreading over his cheeks. He glances around furtively—Oikawa knows he’s looking at him, and he looks away just in time, pretending to bend over and tie one of his shoelaces.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” Iwaizumi announces, and no one stops him as he steps out of the gym and doesn’t return for a solid ten minutes.

  


* * *

  


The third day is a dead giveaway.

They’re at Iwaizumi’s place today to catch up on some actual schoolwork—turns out there was a project after all, but it was actually due at the end of the week. Iwaizumi is cagier than usual the entire time, jumping slightly whenever Oikawa calls his name and not throwing insults every few minutes when Oikawa decides to annoy him about his half of the work every so often.

Oikawa grabs the opportunity when it comes to him—as soon as Iwaizumi gets up to go to the bathroom, he dives over to the other side of the room, to Iwaizumi’s night stand.

And there it is.

It sits in the bottom drawer, behind a stack of old _Volleyball Monthly_ magazine—a tube of KY Jelly. New. _Full._

Ah, the taste of victory is always so sweet. 

  


* * *

  


Now that Oikawa knows he’s won, it’s just a matter of time. He has a lot more patience than Iwaizumi, that’s for sure, but even so he knows he has to put the plan in motion soon.

He continues for the rest of the week without saying a thing about his proposal from the other day—let Iwaizumi think he’s safe, lull him into a false sense of security. It takes delicacy, but Oikawa is an expert. He knows when Iwaizumi begins to let it fade from his mind. He’s easier to be around, more relaxed. No more jumpy antics, no more strange quiet in the place of mean nicknames. No, the nicknames come back, as does the yelling and the threats. It’s fine, Oikawa thinks. It’s worth it to give up the peace for this.

Friday comes along, and Iwaizumi accepts without a second thought when Oikawa offers to let him spend the weekend at his place. His parents have gone to visit his sister, so they’ll have privacy, but Oikawa conveniently forgets to include this detail when he invites Iwaizumi.

It’s a waiting game when they’re at Oikawa’s house—a couple times, Iwaizumi gets suspicious, but Oikawa quickly always quickly backtracks whenever it happens.

“Hey, Iwa-chan, my mom bought ice pops yesterday, do you want one? Great!” He gets up from the couch to pad into the kitchen, ignoring the narrowed eyes Iwaizumi has trained on his back.

“...Sure, whatever,” Iwaizumi says after a while, leaning back into his seat. Oikawa gives an internal sigh of relief.

It takes all the willpower in the world for Oikawa not to give the popsicle a blowjob—he _really_ wants to, but. He holds back. He has a bigger mission to accomplish.

  


* * *

  


When the time to strike comes, Oikawa knows. They’re getting ready for bed, and Iwaizumi leans over to give Oikawa a small peck on the lips as they settle into the sheet. It’s the first physical contact that he’s initiated all day, and Oikawa doesn’t let the chance slip through his fingers.

He pulls Iwaizumi back, fingers grabbing onto the material of his collar and pressing their lips together.

“Iwa-chan, I miss you,” he murmurs, sliding one hand up the back of Iwaizumi’s neck and into his hair.

“What? But we’ve been around each other all day,” Iwaizumi mumbles, and Oikawa can feel the breath against his lips for every word.

“No,” he insists, nuzzling his nose against the strong line of where Iwaizumi’s neck and shoulder meet. “I _miss_ you.” And then he brings their lips back together again, letting his tongue run along Iwaizumi’s teeth and pressing the length of his body against Iwaizumi’s.

Iwaizumi seems to get the message, because he slides his hands down along Oikawa’s hipbones, fingers slipping under his shirt and pressing along the bare skin above his waistband.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says breathily when they break apart. Iwaizumi doesn’t respond, too busy pressing kisses to the underside of Oikawa’s jaw. “Iwa-chan, I need you,” he whines again, a little more desperately this time. He arches his hips up then, grinding up into Iwaizumi’s body.

“What, already?” Iwaizumi whispers. His voice comes out slightly strained.

To be honest, Oikawa has been ready for it all week. In fact, the anticipation had been killing him a little bit, so knowing that all his careful planning is about to come to fruition very soon is getting him all the more heated.

“Like I said, I missed you,” he repeats, trying to sound coy. And it works, because Iwaizumi flushes and sits up straight.

“Alright. Let me get—”

“Are you perhaps looking for...this?” Oikawa reaches under the pillow and pulls out the bottle of lube he had found at Iwaizumi’s house with a flourish, brandishing it between his fingers triumphantly.

“Wh—that’s the—”

Realization dawns on Iwaizumi’s face, slow and oh-so-sweet. “Where did you get that?” he demands, but his voice honestly doesn’t hold any of the usual anger. It sounds strained, sure. Frustrated, yes. But it’s like Iwaizumi can’t even find it in himself to be mad about it anymore—there’s a quiet resignation in his voice, and that is how Oikawa knows that he has this in the bag. _Take that, Dai-chan and Tetsu-chan._

“So, are we gonna do this or what?”

“I thought I already told you that I don’t wanna fucking _fist_ you—”

“But don’t you?” Oikawa lets his voice go soft and breathy, lets his eyes fall half-lidded. His hair is already mussed up from when Iwaizumi’s hands were in it earlier, and he presents himself tantalizingly on the bed. “I want you to do it, you know. Otherwise I wouldn’t have even wanted to make it a competition. I _want_ it, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi swallows visibly, and Oikawa can nearly see his resolve breaking.

“I want it, Iwa-chan,” he repeats, tilting his head to one side. “Please give it to me.”

And then Iwaizumi is surging forward, leaning over Oikawa bodily and grasping the hand Oikawa is holding the bottle of lube in with one, tight hand, and sealing their mouths together.

“You—fucking—fuck—I can’t believe this,” Iwaizumi mutters in between the smacking of their lips, and just kisses Oikawa harder when he feels Oikawa smiling.

Their clothes are history after a few moments, landing in a messy pile at the foot of the bed. And to be honest, Oikawa loves it whenever Iwaizumi gets a little more aggressive like this, so his cock is hard and leaking against his stomach by the time Iwaizumi growls into his ear, telling him to get on his hands and knees.

“My my, Iwa-chan, you seem to know what you’re doing,” he teases, tossing one look over his shoulder as Iwaizumi settles himself behind Oikawa. “Been doing some independent research?”

“Shut the hell up,” Iwaizumi mumbles, a look of utter concentration on his face as he squeezes a liberal amount of the lube onto his fingers.

The first slide in feels fine, normal even, though they haven’t done this for a little bit.

“I-Is this okay?” Iwaizumi asks, as if he hasn’t had a single finger up Oikawa’s ass before.

“What happened to the Iwa-chan from before, huh? Bring him back,” Oikawa quips, wiggling his hips around slightly. Iwaizumi exhales slowly with his nose, pressing the finger in and out a few times before sliding in a second.

Oikawa groans a little bit at this one, arching his back while trying to peer over his shoulder at what’s happening. But he gives up on that when Iwaizumi scissors his fingers slightly, the stretch starting to build up that pleasant burning sensation in his gut.

It seems like an eternity before Oikawa feels the press of a third finger against his slick skin, and he makes a noise at the back of his throat, leaning down to put his weight on his forearms instead of his hands.

The fit is tight, but the stretch is delicious as Iwaizumi pistons the digits in and out, curling them inside slightly. Oikawa feels pleasure spark up his spine, and he moans, half-muffled by the pillow under his head.

Four fingers is a little much, and the pleasant burn turns into a slight sting when Iwaizumi only gets his pinky in up to the second knuckle before Oikawa is gasping, and not in pleasure.

“Is are you okay? Should I stop, is this too much?” Iwaizumi asks. His sounds concerned, which is a rare moment in and of itself, but Oikawa doesn’t want to stop.

“No, it’s fine, keep going,” he insists, getting ready to grit his teeth at the slide back in when he feels Iwaizumi withdraw his fingers.

“Wait, let me…”

He hears the bottle of lube uncap, and Iwaizumi drizzles a generous amount over both his hand and Oikawa’s rim, where he spreads it around a little before fitting his fingers back inside.

This time, the pinky slides in along with the rest of Iwaizumi’s fingers, and after a little more stretching and some coaxing from Oikawa, the thumb is in there too.

After a little while, it becomes apparent to Oikawa that he hadn’t anticipated something—he hadn’t anticipated how much he would enjoy this. 

Iwaizumi is silent but for his breathing, each hot fan of air puffing against the base of Oikawa’s spine, even and concentrated. Oikawa, the other hand, moans long and low at each curl of Iwaizumi’s fingers inside of him. He’s feels so _full_ , and it’s all he can do to press his forehead into the material of the pillow as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to lose it. He can feel everything—the heated skin on the back of Iwaizumi’s hands gliding against his walls, the press of his knuckles, careful and steady, against his prostate, the clench of his own sphincter over Iwaizumi’s wristbone.

It’s too much and not enough, and he desperately, dazedly reaches between his legs to grasp at his neglected cock, rubbing the pearl of precum beaded at the top over the head before slicking his hand down the base. He doesn’t get past one pump before Iwaizumi’s batting his hand away insistently, replacing it with his own.

It doesn’t take long for him to get there, and he thinks Iwaizumi knows too, because the pace of everything in general picks up, getting faster, more insistent, bordering on the tip of frantic. And then he’s gone, keening loud and high, the pressure that had been building in his spine snapping as he comes all over Iwaizumi’s hand.

The sense of loss is apparent when Iwaizumi draws his hand, glistening and slick with lube, out of Oikawa, who groans at the sensation.

He doesn’t make a move to reposition himself, too exhausted and boneless to do anything but lie there dazedly. He barely registers Iwaizumi behind him, not until there’s something warm and wet spurting over his back.

“Did you just jack off onto my back,” he mumbles into the pillow, too tired to genuinely care.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi says lowly, sounding just as tired as Oikawa. “I hope you’re happy now.”

“Oh, I am, Iwa-chan. Trust me, I am.”

“I still can’t believe you roped me into this. How did you even know I was going to agree?”

“An idea is the most resilient parasite, Iwa-chan. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain it's almost impossible to eradicate.”

Iwaizumi just stares at him, like he expects something more. Oikawa can’t find in him the effort to keep his eyes open, as much as he wants to keep looking at that expression, and Iwaizumi gets up from the bed with a huff.

“I’m never watching Inception with you again,” Oikawa thinks he hears Iwaizumi muttering as he goes to the bathroom. He drifts off easily, after that, unaware of the warm washcloth pressing gentle across his backside to clean up the mess.

  


* * *

  


Oikawa has only on a few occasions ever been fearful for his life.

This is one of them.

After triumphantly announcing in the group chat that the deed had been done, Oikawa had been floored and, quite frankly, outraged to find out that someone else had beaten them to the punch. And he had, in his devastation, made the mistake of informing Iwaizumi of this development without thinking of the consequences.

Iwaizumi looks like he’s about to blow a gasket, and Oikawa can practically see the steam billowing out of his ears.

“So after you _incepted_ me into some kind of twisted _competitive fisting_ event. After you tricked me. After actually I did it, you’re honestly going to tell me that you didn’t. Even. Win.”

“It’s not my fault, Iwa-chan! You were taking so long to come around, how was I supposed to know Tetsu-chan would get it accomplished so quickly? The glasses kid must be a lot more capable than he looks! It’s not my fault!” Oikawa wails, holding his hands up in front of him—half as a calming effect (it doesn’t work), half as protection in case Iwaizumi decides to really go for him.

“Try again, Shittykawa!”

“Iwa-chan, please! Have mercy!”

“No way in hell!”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you...enjoyed this, kitten...  
> it's been a long time coming


End file.
